


just like this

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, MIT Era, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: It happens like this:There is an attack and all of his carefully constructed freedom comes tumbling down, shattered like so much glass.





	1. Chapter 1

It happens like this: 

There is an attack. A bloody lab and a wounded assassin, a would be heir spitting curses and a best friend, lips pressed tight, expression furious. 

There is an attack and all of his carefully constructed freedom comes tumbling down, shattered like so much glass. 

~*~ 

He's still bleeding, still got a bag of melting peas shoved against his face when Howard storms in, trailed by Obadiah. Rhodey pauses in the middle of stirring tomato soup, then shrugs and goes back to it because the worst has already happened tonight, because Howard can't possibly do worse, because Howard and Obadiah aren't worth the seventy nine cent can of soup he'd have to throw away if he gave them his attention.

“You’re moving home,” Howard snaps and Tony--

Tony laughs. 

Because a gunshot wound and a concussion doesn’t phase him, not even a little bit and there’s no way in hell he’s moving back to New York, back to the oversized tomb where his father can control every damn thing he does. 

“This is a waste of time, and it’s dangerous. I never agreed to let you recklessly endanger yourself.” 

“To be fair,” Tony drawls, “you never agreed to any of this. You just couldn’t figure out how to stop it, right dad?” 

Howard’s face is going red and Tony is smirking, that dirty cocky thing that gets him in more trouble than Rhodey can drag him out of and Obadiah says, “Let’s just talk about this.” 

Rhodey is quiet, let’s them argue and cajole and threaten as he pulls the soup from the hotplate, as he pours it in Tony’s favorite mug and takes it and a cheese sandwich to him. He takes the ice and stands in front of Tony. 

Not quite blocking him from Howard and Stane--but clearly putting himself between them and Tony. 

The sneer on Stane’s face says it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“He isn’t leaving. But that’s not the only option for keeping him safe.” 

Howard’s narrow, furious gaze lands on him, and other men might back down to be on the recieving end of that much unadultureated hate. Rhodey just shoves a thin file at him and turns to give Tony, poking his sandwich dubiously, a severe look.

Tony takes an obedient bite and only makes the tiniest of faces at him. 

“What is this--you want me to hire him a bodyguard?” 

~*~ 

“Absolutely not.” 

“This is ridiculous.” 

“Honeybear, you know I hate agreeing with Dad but--” 

“He isn’t safe here!” 

~*~ 

They argue. 

Rhodey expects that. 

But in the end--the compromise is this: 

Tony has security. And in return, he gets to stay in Cambridge. 

~*~ 

Tony wakes up with a pounding headache and the taste of metal in his mouth and he hears Rhodey, his voice soft and laughing, that familiar tone he uses when he’s talking to one of his buddies from the Air Force, and it makes all of the tension gathering in his bones drain away. 

Rhodey is here, and he is here, and whatever the hell they promised Howard last night--it doesn’t matter, because he isn’t  _ here.  _

Rhodey comes in and settles on his bed, and Tony rolls, wincing just a little, burrowing into his best friend. “Who’s ‘at?” 

Long fingers sift through his hair, scratching gently and Tony bites back the urge to purr, to press for  _ more.  _

_ “ _ The guy I want to hire as your bodyguard,” Rhodey says, casual and all of the sugar sweet contentment melts away. 

~*~ 

They fight. 

It’s loud and brutal and vicious and it ends with Rhodey storming out and Tony locked in his workshop, his head aching and tears burning in his eyes. 

He  _ hates _ fighting with Rhodey. The rest of the world can rot for all he cares, but Rhodey--Rhodey is his, has been steadfastly on his side since the first time he found a child-sized roommate with big eyes and a bigger attitude in his dorm room. 

Rhodey was his, in a way that no one, not even Jarvis, had ever been, completely loyal and utterly uncaring who his father was, what his inheritance was, what he could  _ gain _ by being Tony Stark’s best friend. 

It had been three years since Tony latched onto Rhodey that first day in the dorms at MIT, and he wasn’t ready to let go. 

But they fought, and he sits in his workshop with DUM-E pressing against his knees and he sniffles and tries not to cry, and wonders if maybe this time will be when he has to. 

~*~ 

“Why can’t you protect me?” he asks, small and plaintive, when Rhodey pulls him into a hug on the couch. They cuddle together, Rhodey’s bigger body wrapped around his, Tony’s hands fisted in his sweatshirt.

“Because I have to report for duty on Monday,” Rhodey says, patient, “you know that. And I won’t be here to keep you safe.”

Tony grumbles into his chest and Rhodey’s hands tighten on him, just enough that his friend looks up, curious and concerned. “I need you to do this for me, Tones. I can’t be distracted in the field, worrying about you.” 

Tony scowls. “You’re cheating,” he accuses and Rhodey shrugs. Holds his gaze. 

He sighs. “Fine. Who the hell is it?” 

~*~ 

His name is James. 

His name is James and Tony tells Rhodey to take care of it, and vanishes back into his lab. He doesn’t want to see who Rhodey is replacing himself with, doesn’t want to see them talking and laughing, doesn’t want the reminder that there is a part of his life that Tony can’t be part of. 

He doesn’t want to see visual evidence that his freedom is being curtailed, not even in this small way. 

He locks down the lab, and ignores Rhodey when he taps for access, ignores his grumbling and the apologies, ignores it completely. 

DUM-E nudges against his knee, careful and inquisitive and Tony tells himself the lost ache lonely in his gut is from this stranger invading his life, and not his best friend leaving him. 

~*~ 

Rhodey kisses his hair, before he goes, all warm and sticky affection, and Tony clings a little more than he should, wishing for the millionth time that Rhodey was a little less tragically straight. Then he pulls away and says, “Barnes will be here in thirty minutes. Don’t get in any trouble before then.” 

“No promises, platypus.” Tony answers, and his voice only shakes a little. Rhodey snorts and then detangles himself and Tony is proud of the way he doesn’t cling too tight, and then--

“Eight weeks, Tones. I’ll be home before you know it.” 

He sniffles and nods and waves and Rhodey is gone. 

~*~ 

It happens like this:

He’s still crying, when the doorbell rings. 

He’s still crying, when James Barnes steps into their apartment, all big and broad and broody. 

He’s still crying and storm sky eyes find his and a worried frown tilts down his lips and Tony  _ can’t _ he  _ can’t.  _

Sympathy from this stranger will break him. 

“You’re late,” he grits out and scrubs at his eyes, and he misses the startled look on that too-open face, misses the way it goes concerned and worried and settles in neutral and blank. 

“Sorry. Rhodes said it wouldn’t be a problem.” 

Tony glares at him, and straightens. “Rhodey,” he snaps, “isn’t here. What he  _ said _ doesn’t matter.” 

James Barnes blinks at him, and Tony turns, riding fury because it’s better than despair, and throws over his shoulder, “Don’t be late again.”


	2. Chapter 2

It goes like this: 

Tony Stark is an  _ asshole.  _

He’s demanding and eccentric, spends too much time working and muttering to himself,  ignoring the man standing in the corner except when he was snarling, snapping,  making it  _ very _ clear that James’ continued presence in his life  and lab were the very last thing he wanted. 

Tony Stark is an asshole who is rude and defensive, who drinks too much coffee and stops  sometimes, goes eerily still--and those moments shake him. 

Because in those moments, he sees Tony. 

Not Tony Stark, the heir of Stark Industries, the spoiled eccentric genius, the too  young college student and the presses favorite disaster--in those moments, he  saw Tones, the sweet kid that Rhodey hadn’t stopped talking about since they  were shoved into a room together by MIT. 

Those moments are short lived and rare, but he thinks--there is more reality in Tony  in those heartbeats than in all the lies he’s heard. 

~*~ 

Tony doesn’t like him. He doesn’t trust him. There is a grudging tolerance, something  he thinks is Rhodes’ fault more than anything. A week passes, and Tony tolerates  him, but ignores him, standing in the corner of his lab and trailing him on  campus.

But he watches—his job is to watch, and he  _ watches,  _ watches Tony with his brilliant mind focused on a troublesome piece of tech. Watches his fingers, elegant and sure and rough with callouses and scars, move along the computer while he codes, moves over his bot and his cars and the bombs he’s designing.

He watches the way Tony’s smile brightens when DUM-E brings him a wrench, the way his gaze goes soft and fond when he talks to JARVIS, and the way he brightens up, goes almost manic, when, after three days, Rhodey calls.

Tony doesn’t like him, but he is all chaotic energy and genius, contained in a gorgeous body and bright brown eyes that stare at him sleepily over coffee and glare when James nudges him to eat, and he thinks—

I want him to like me.

I want him to smile for me, not just the bots and JARVIS and Rhodes.

~*~

He starts feeding Tony the second week, when he realizes Tony only eats when JARVIS reminds him, gentle nudges that Tony chafes at.

Coffee works best, and sandwiches. He likes smoothies and fruit that's easy to grab, and never ever turns away from pizza and burgers. 

Tony watches him sometimes, when he's chewing on a pizza crust. Watches like James is a particular puzzle and he's trying to sort him out, make him make sense. 

~*~ 

It changes like this: 

Obadiah comes to the lab. 

He watches Tony, his gaze sharp and considering, and James watches him, narrow-eyed and assessing. 

Tony changes around Obadiah, becomes more self-contained, his frantic energy careful and guarded, his eyes shuttered. 

Tony doesn’t  _ trust _ him. 

“C’mon son, gimme somethin’ to tell your old man,” Stane says. It’s the fourth time in less than an hour, and Tony’s expression is tighter, hunted in a way that James doesn’t like. 

He shifts,a little, and it draws the older man’s gaze, pulls his attention. He smiles, sharp and confiding “You’ll tell me, huh? What’s our boy working on?” 

Tony’s shoulders slump a little, and James smiles, sharp toothed and cold. “If Mr. Stark has anything to tell you--he will.” 

Stane’s expression flashes furious for a moment before the smile goes even wider, all fake genial lies. “Got yourself a loyal one, eh, boy? That’s nice. Nice.” 

His gaze lingers, too long, on James’ arm, and then he’s excusing himself, false happy bluster and approval and James shoves down the sick cold feeling that this is going to bite him on the ass. 

~*~ 

Later, days later, over spaghetti, Tony asks, staring into his wine, “Why didn’t you tell Obie? He signs your paychecks.”

“Rhodey signs my paychecks. And I wasn’t hired to be your babysitter--I was hired to protect you.”

“From Obie?” Tony says, skeptical. 

James waits, still until Tony meets his gaze, and then, softly, he says, “From anyone you need to be protected from.” 

~*~ 

He isn’t warm, exactly--but he’s not as cold. He smiles, softly, nudges James toward the dilapidated couch in the lab, and chatters, sometimes pausing and teasing James into responding. 

He’s careful--cautious--but things change. 

Tony begins, slowly, to trust him. 

~*~ 

It’s good. 

It’s better than he expected. 

And then he comes to the apartment and Obadiah is there, a man he recognizes as Howard Stark is there, and Tony is stiff, almost trembling. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe he can keep you safe,” Howard says, barely sparing James a look, all disdain and dismissive. 

“He’s missing an  _ arm,  _ son.”

Tony doesn’t respond, just clenches his teeth and stares, shoulders bowed. “We’re replacing him,” Obie says, and it’s patient, friendly, patronizing. “It’s for your own good.” 

James twitches his shoulders and says, “I’m not your employee to fire.”

It makes them pause, and fury sparks in both those eyes, but Tony--Tony gives him a small, thankful smile. 

~*~ 

It changes, just like this:

They can’t fire him. Rhodey made sure of that, before he left, and James thinks Rhodey is brilliant and loves Tony, to have done this. 

They can’t fire him. 

But they can hire someone new. Someone else. 

It changes, just like this:

Steve Rogers steps into the lab, all stern stare and shoulders and cold cold eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

“What are you doing?” James demands, the second the door closes behind Howard and Obie. 

“My job,” Rogers answers, and Tony blinks, looks between them. Tall and dark and loyal; blond and big and bought. 

“I take it you know each other,” he says, a little lamely. 

Rogers tilts his head, quiet acknowledgement, and Tony huffs. 

~*~ 

Rogers is quiet and watchful. He frowns, when James leaves Tony in the lab to find food, scowls when the project he’s working on blows up in Tony’s face and he comes up grinning and bloody, scowls when they argue over movies to play in the background, scowls when Tony stumbles, sleep deprived and clumsy toward bed, scowls when James reclines against the couch and ignores Tony as he flutters after Pepper, when he coos at Rhodey on the phone. 

Rogers scowls  _ a lot _ . 

But it’s worse, he thinks, when James touches him. 

~*~ 

"Bucky," Rogers snaps, and James stiffens a little. Tony frowns because the hand on his shoulder tightens minutely before it falls away and James steps back, falling into a familiar slouch against the wall while Tony eats. 

And Rogers relaxes, just a little, like that space buys his peace of mind. 

"You know you don't have to protect me from him," Tony points out as he nibbles on blueberries. "Honeybear picked him." 

Rogers' scowl deepens if anything. 

And Tony smirks. 

~*~ 

It happens like this: 

Rogers is on a call with Stane or Stark or someone Tony doesn't give a fuck about, and James is sprawled, indolent and beautiful, on his couch.

Tony smiles and slips into his lap, and almost preens when James' hands come up to catch his hips. "He hates it when you touch me," Tony murmurs, dipping down to breath the words against his skin. He pulls back and meets Jamie's eyes, questioning and teasing and Jamie grins.

Tony leans down, tastes that smirk, bites at it the way he's wanted to do since the first time Jamie bit his lip and scowled. Jamie's hands, snug tight on his hips, grip  _ hard,  _ pull  _ close  _ and Tony whines as the tease goes deep and dirty, slips from a tease to a promise, James’ hands sliding into his hair, twisting and pulling,  _ moving _ Tony where he wants and  _ taking _ what he wants.

“ _ Barnes,”  _ Rogers snarls, and it doesn’t stop him, doesn’t break the kiss, though the hand in his hair clenches, almost possessive.

The kiss breaks lazy, with Tony chasing James’ mouth a nearly inaudible whine. He blinks, heavy lidded and hungry, and it’s only the pointed throat clearing that drags his head around.

“Can I help you?” he asks, lazy and smug and he knows what he looks like, knows it’s all fresh fucked and hungry.

The fury on Roger’s face is almost as delicious as the press of James’ erection, hot and hard, against his thigh.

~*~

He can’t quite figure out Steve Rogers. There’s the loyalty to his father and Stane, and the antagonism toward Jamie—but there is also the way that, sometimes, he’ll catch Rogers watching him.

It doesn’t happen often—and when it does, he isn’t sure what he’s seeing. But it’s there, undeniable, hunger flickering in ocean blue and cold, and it makes him  _ wonder. _

“That’s never a good idea,” Rhodey says, a tired grin in his tone and Tony rolls in his sheets, lonely and anxious.

“I just think it could be fun—see how far I could push him? What’s the harm.”

“He’s not an experiment, Tones,” Rhodey says, exasperated. 

“Could be,” Tony shoots back.

“This is why I don’t like leaving you alone.”

“I thought it was you’re convinced someone would shoot me,” Tony sasses.

“Have you figured out who tried last time?” Rhodey says, the humor draining away to be replaced with cold anger.

“I haven’t looked,” Tony says. “Isn’t that why you have Barnes?”

Rhodey hesitates, and then, “Yeah, it is.”

Tony considers chasing it, just for a moment, but then Rhodey is changing the subject, asking about DUM-E and U and he let’s himself be distracted.

~*~

“We should go out,” Jamie says, later. He’s feeding Tony again, and Rogers is glaring from his spot near the door and Tony looks at him and grins. “You gotta be bored, cooped up like this.”

“It’s dangerous,” Rogers says, before Tony can answer and it sets his mind, hard. His lips go wicked and teasing and Bucky almost laughs at the way Rogers walked right into this.

“Yeah,” Tony breathes, leaning over to press a fruit-flavored kiss to the corner of his lips. “Take me dancing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dancing becomes a regular thing. 

Part of it is because of how much he likes it, how much he  _ loves _ the pound of music, the sharp bite of coke and ecstasy, the way the shots Jamie lines up for him makes the world go fuzzy and bright. He  _ loves _ the way Jamie looks at him, when he’s in skintight leather, low slung on his hips, sheer shirt clinging to his chest, his nipples. 

He  _ loves  _ the way, sometimes--not always, but sometimes, when it’s late enough, when someone gets too handsy--Jamie will slide behind him on the dance floor, plaster that big broad frame to his, and dance with him, a dirty grind that makes him ache for a bed. 

What he loves most--is looking up, drunk and drugged and horny, and seeing cool cool blue eyes watching him, so hungry it makes him shake. 

~*~ 

Steve Rogers never touches him. 

He watches. 

When Jamie does, when he’s alone in the shop, he even wakes, once, to find Rogers watching him sleep. 

But he never touches Tony. Not even by accident. 

He watches Jamie, too. 

They watch each other, circle warily. 

Tony asks about it, once. “What’s the story, between you?” He’s nibbling bacon and toast, coffee held out reach by Jamie whose watching him eat. 

Jamie is silent, and he finally looks up, curious. Storm grey eyes are blank and his small smile, so familiar now, is nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s private,” Jamie says. 

Tony doesn’t ask him--not again. 

He does ask Rogers, though. It’s when Jamie is out--he didn’t say why, and Tony didn’t ask, but he knows Jamie is still tracking down the attacker. “Why do you dislike Jamie so much?” 

Rogers is quiet for so long, Tony thinks he won’t answer. He doesn’t, always. 

He does, though, eventually. “Why don’t you?” 

Tony shrugs, carefully secures a piece of wire and mumbles. “Rhodey trusts him. He picked Jamie to protect me. I don’t need anything else.” 

“I was chosen to protect you--but you hate me.” 

Tony snorts, and looks up. “You were hired, by my father. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.” 

“I want to keep you safe,” Rogers says. 

“You want a paycheck. I get it--Howard is the meal ticket most folks hitch their wagon to. But I know better than to trust the ones who do.” 

Rogers is quiet, for a long time. Then, quietly. “He saved my life. Bucky--it’s how he lost his arm.” 

Tony goes still because that--that doesn’t explain  _ anything _ . Just opens up an entire can of worms. 

But Rogers isn’t quite done. “He saved my life and then he ended our engagement and broke my heart. So yeah. We have history and it’s not easy. But it’s not any of your business.” 

Tony stares at him, for a long time, and then, whisper soft, like a tease, “Why do you watch, when he’s touching me?”

Rogers doesn’t answer, and it sparks annoyance down his spine. He rises, all liquid smooth and sultry, watches the way that Steve’s pupils blow, the way his gaze goes hungry dark. 

“Is it that you don’t trust him, because we’re involved?” he whispers, slinking forward. Steve doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tightens. “No. Is it that you’re jealous--of me, getting to touch him?” 

A flicker of that blue summer sky and his smile goes shark-like. He breathes the question against Rogers lips, “Or are you jealous of him, touching me.” 

The summer sky is almost eaten up by black.  _ Bingo.  _

Tony sways forward, so close the heat pouring off Steve almost singes him, and hard hot hands close on his hips. 

Tony almost gasps, after all this time, and Rogers refusing to touch him. A big warm thumb rubs over his hipbone, and Tony shudders. 

“It’s both,” Rogers breathes into his ear. “I’m jealous of both of you.” 

Tony’s eyes flick up, and he doesn’t know what’s in his eyes, but he knows dam well that the heat in Rogers’ is pure want. 

“Am I interrupting?” Jamie asks, smokey lazy drawl cascading over him like honey and Steve’s hand close on his hips, convulsive, before he deliberately pushes Tony back. “Not a thing,” he says, smoothly, his face blank. 

Tony doesn’t think anyone believes that lie. 


	5. Chapter 5

They have found a balance. 

Tony doesn’t go out of his way to push Steve where Jamie is concerned, but he doesn’t go out of his way to avoid it either. The tension in the workshop is manageable. Jamie is the best present Rhodey has ever given him and Rhodey will be home soon, and Steve will go away to wherever the hell his father dug him up. 

It’s not perfect--but it’s manageable. 

And, of course, that’s when it goes to shit. 

~*~ 

He’s elbows deep in the guts of his hot rod when he gets the call. 

“You’re needed in New York, son.” 

Tony tilts his head, and frowns. “I thought--”

“This one isn’t my call,” Obie says, before he can protest too much, “Your old man wants you at the quarterly board meeting to go over the new tech you’ve been working R&D on. If we’re moving out of bombs, we want the heir apparent making the announcement.” 

“We aren’t moving out of bombs,” Tony says, even though he wants to. Even though the robotics and electronics he’s been working on could revolutionize the industry, and create a legacy they could be proud of, instead of blowing up something else. 

He shoves that thought aside. 

“You know that last attacker still hasn’t been found,” he says, because it’s true and it’s a threat, even if he does hate being cooped up in his brownstone. 

“I also know you have two very talented and qualified bodyguards. Let them earn their paychecks with more than making sure no one drugged your drink. Get your suit and your shit and get home, kid.” 

Tony huffs. “Send me the details.” 

“Already did. I’ll see you Friday.” 

Obie hangs up without waiting for a response, and Tony leans his head back. Storm grey and summer bright blue stare back, endless skies and he sighs. “Guess we’re goin’ on a road trip.” 

~*~ 

Jamie is quiet. The car hums along, and he watches Tony. 

Tony who has been quiet and withdrawn since he got the phone call from Stane, who has snapped at Rogers three times and shied away from Jamie every time he’s gone to touch him. He sits quiet on the far side of the bench seat while Steve drives, clad in a suit, fist pressed to his lips, and his eyes dark and worried. 

He wishes he had time to call Rhodes, before they left. 

He wishes he knew who the hell had hired the gunman all those weeks ago. 

He wishes he had answers and he  _ wishes _ Tony would give him that small, charming smile that he was so helpless against. 

Metal fingers form a fist and he stares at the back of his ex-fiance's head and thinks wishes are for other people. 

People who aren’t him. 

~*~ 

Tony falls asleep somewhere in the second hour of the drive, while the darkness flies by and he slumps into Jamie, finally, his reserve stripped away by his exhaustion. 

“He hasn’t slept, since Stane called,” Steve says, softly, and Jamie flicks a look at him. “He’s worried.” 

“He doesn’t get along with his father,” Jamie says, pointless, useless, and Steve snorts. “You--”

“I’m going to do my job, Buck. Sames as I always have. Keeping him safe is my only goal, even if he doesn’t believe it.” 

_ Even if you don’t _ , is the unspoken accusation, the one Jamie hears, loud and clear. 

He doesn’t respond and a few minutes pass, miles melting away under the tires and then, “We have to work together, here. Even if we don’t at home--he’s vulnerable here.” 

Jamie doesn’t respond, and Steve huffs, that grumpy irritation that he adored so much, before he didn’t. “Buck, are you gonna work with me?” he says, point blank and Jamie’s gaze flicks up, finds his in the rearview. 

It happens just like this: 

Tony murmurs in his sleep, presses closer. 

Steve asks for his trust, asks for the one thing Bucky doesn't know how to give him anymore. 

And from the corner of his eye, he sees the flare of light and he feels the car shudder and shake, hears Tony’s scream and Steve’s violent curse, and then the world flips and flips and flips. 


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes to the sensation of being carried. 

There’s a burning heat against his face and the sound of fire and hoarse breathing, and as the heat faded, the steady  _ sh sh sh _ of something being dragged over leaves. 

He falls into the black again. 

~*~ 

He wakes screaming, and strong arms pin him down, and endless summer skies watch, tight with worry and haunted and he  _ screams _ and  _ screams _ and something  _ pops _ in his shoulder before he collapses back into the musty sheets and falls away from the pain and worried sky. 

~*~ 

He wakes. 

And 

He wakes. 

And

He wakes. 

Steve is always there, endlessly patient and watching. 

He sleeps. 

~*~ 

There’s a scratch in his throat, when he claws his way to consciousness. He isn’t alone, and the pain feels like a distant ache, a familiar numbness wrapped around him. 

He wonders where Steve got the good drugs from, but isn’t quite ready to open his eyes and ask. 

But his throat is scratchy and it occurs to him, late late late, that Steve has been at his side since the first time he woke--but he hasn’t seen Jamie. 

He lurches in the bed, flailing a little and small hands shove at him. “Holy shit, mister, he was right about you wakin’ up.” 

Tony blinks at the boy--it is a boy, sandy curly hair and a smirk on his little face doing nothing to hide his worried blue gaze. “You’re gonna pull your stitches if you move too much and Mr. Steve just fell asleep.” 

“Jamie,” he says, coughing and the kid hands him a cup of water, huffing when Tony spills half of it on himself. 

“He’s sleepin’. Been bitchin’ since I got back with your drugs--but he’s fine. Broke a leg. You’re the one they’re worried about.” 

Of course they were. He was Steve’s meal ticket and Jamie--Jamie was Rhodey’s best present and he’d trust his life to the man. 

“What happened?” 

The kid stares at him, something flickering in his expression that made Tony’s stomach turn. “You’re Tony Stark, huh?” he says, finally and Tony flicks a glance to the dark corner of the room where he can just see them--Jamie and Steve--wrapped around each other on a narrow bed. He doesn’t answer and the boy doesn’t press. 

He doesn’t tell him what happened either. 

~*~ 

The boy says his name is Harley, and he snarks and sasses Tony through a bowl of truly disgusting Ramen noddles, and then pokes at his homework while Tony drifts in and out. He’s there, though, when Steve jerks awake, when Jamie comes too with a furious curse and violent blush, rolling away from Steve so abruptly he almost lands on his ass on the ground. 

Tony catches the smirk Harley hides, and he thinks he’d probably feel the same way if he weren’t feeling like death warmed over. 

Jamie and Steve realize he’s awake at the same time, and Jamie is hobbling across the room, his face twisted in pain and hands reaching for Tony and Steve is a step behind, his expression--

He’s never seen that expression on Steve’s face before. Exhausted and relieved and almost happy, watching them. 

It makes Tony want to reach for him. 

He doesn’t, just twists his hand in Jamie’s hair and drags him into a kiss that makes Harley groan and makes Steve’s smile go even wider. 

Relief. 

Happiness. 

He looks almost--almost content. 

And he never looks away as Tony kisses Jamie. 

~*~ 

Jamie tells him, when they’re curled together in bed, and Harley stands against the wall, and Steve watches, his arms crossed. 

It doesn’t make sense, at first. 

The accident. 

Steve pulling them from the wreckage. 

Dragging them to safety and Harley finding them and patching them together. 

None of that makes sense. 

But then, neither do the newspapers Harley shows them. 

The ones that say he’s dead. 

The ones that say his parents are. 

Jamie tells him, when they’re curled together in bed, but it doesn’t make sense. 

None of it makes sense and he closes his eyes and wishes for the sweet tug of black oblivion that doesn’t come. 

~*~ 

“What are we doing?” he asks, two days after he wakes up coherent enough to be told he’s an orphan, two days after he realized he was declared dead. 

“Waiting,” Steve says. Jamie twitches in his sleep and Harley, snoring on the floor, barely moves, unbothered by their low voices. 

“For what?” he says. 

“Who knew you were going back to New York?” Steve asks. 

Tony blinks at him. Slow, mind churning restless, and his fingers tremble because he understands, even if he doesn’t want to. “No,” he says, begs. 

“Someone tried to have you killed, Tony.” Steve says, soft and implacable. “And someone killed your parents.”

“It’s not--it can’t be--” 

“He knew. He knew and no one else did.”

“So  _ do _ something,” Tony says, hoarse, a whispered shout. “What are we waiting for!” 

Steve stares at him, and something soft slips into his implacable gaze. “You. We’re waiting til you’re healed enough that Jamie can take you and run.” 

Tony shivers, and he feels Jamie’s arm tighten around him. “And then,” he murmurs, hoarse in Tony’s ear, and it cascades shivers down his spine, “Then Stevie is going to kill the bastard who hurt you.” 

The smile Steve gives him is cold cold cold vicious bloodthirsty and Tony thinks--later and now, hear-pounding in his throat--this is when he falls in love with Steve Rogers. 


	7. Chapter 7

It happens like this: 

Steve leaves. 

Tony can breath without coughing, his bruises have faded, and Jamie is hobbling around on his still healing leg and Steve wraps himself in a coat that Harley produces from wherever the hell the kid is digging up everything else, and then he’s gone. 

His absence is a gaping hole in their little barn. 

Tony shivers in Jamie’s arms and it doesn’t feel  _ right _ , being here, being in his embrace, when Steve isn’t watching, bright eyed and hungry. 

“He’s going to be ok,” Jamie says, and Tony makes a noise, soft and helpless and disbelieving. His arms tighten around him and he repeats it, almost desperate. “He’s gonna be ok.” 

~*~ 

Jamie gets them a car, and they drive. He doesn’t like leaving Harley, doesn’t like leaving the last place they were with Steve--but they go. 

He trusts Jamie, still. Always. 

“Can we call Rhodey?” he asks, softly, once they’re on the road, and the rain pelts down on the windshield. 

Jamie glances at him and the sorrow and regret in his eyes is answer enough. Tony rolls himself into Steve’s sweatshirt and let’s tears drip down his nose, soak the soft cotton, and the miles roll away. 

~*~ 

Jamie tucks them away into a safehouse in Virginia, a small thing in a dense forest. There’s a massive bed, and a shocking absence of computers and phones and tech. 

Tony wants to cry, looking at it. 

Or maybe, he just wants to cry. 

He feels like he’s drowning, lost in grief he isn’t sure how to express. There’s been too much time and not enough space to wrap his head around the fact that his parents are dead, that his surrogate father is the one who killed them, that he tried to kill Tony. 

“Is it worth it?” he whispers. “SI--the money and the power? Is it really worth killing for?” Jamie doesn’t answer, just wraps around him, and holds him as Tony cries. 

~*~ 

He misses Rhodey. 

He misses Rhodey with an intensity that terrifies him. As much as he adores Jamie, as much as he has learned to trust Steve--even as fond as he has grown of Harley--Rhodey is the steady bedrock of his life, has been since he stepped into his crowded dormhall and got dragged to the older boy’s side, protective and exasperated and adoring by turns. 

He wants Rhodey’s arms around him, sheltering and comforting as he cries. 

“He thinks I’m dead,” he cries, “Jamie, he thinks I’m  _ dead.”  _

~ *~ 

They don’t fool around. The grief is too thick, too choking, and the tension--the waiting. 

And there is this--Steve is gone. 

And it feels wrong, somehow, to take from Jamie when Steve is not here. 

~*~ 

“You trust him,” Tony asks once, his fingers gentle on Jamie’s wrist. 

He feels more than sees the nod. “But you left him.” 

Jamie is quiet, and he thinks, just for a moment, of that day when he’d asked about them, about their relationship. He thinks about the way Jamie shoved him away, retreated behind his hair and scowls and surly attitude. 

Jamie sighs. “I left him because I’m broken, Tony. I--Steve deserves the whole world. And I’m just a busted up vet with full up with nightmares and trauma. He doesn’t need that.” 

Tony stares at him, and laughs. “You’re an idiot, James Barnes.” 

Jamie scowled, and dragged him into their nest of blankets and laid on him to hold him still, and Tony went pliant, grief and fear far away and Jamie whispered, “I wish you were right.” 

~*~ 

Tony thinks--that is the moment it all began to end. 

That moment, beautiful and bittersweet.

~*~ 

The door opens in the middle of the night, and Tony lurches upright, barely noticing Jamie’s gun trained on the door because--

“ _ Tones?”  _

He breathes, “ _ Rhodey _ ,” and then he’s scrambling out of bed, running across the room to throw himself into his best friend’s arms, and he can hear Jamie cursing behind him, can feel Steve a few steps away--but nothing matters except Rhodey, here, here, here, and he finally let’s himself break the way he has fought since he woke up in Harley’s barn. He feels Rhodey’s arms, tight around him, and his voice, a familiar croon, and he shatters into pieces. 


	8. Chapter 8

This is what he knows, what he's always known: Rhodey will never let anything hurt him. 

Rhodey loves him--not his name or position or power or money. Just Tones, a disaster without enough sense to take care of himself, a mess of daddy issues and low self-esteem and self-deprecating humor, and more brilliant than either of them really knew what to do with. 

Rhodey was protective and possessive and pushy, and he shoved Tony to do better, every single day. 

He held him, when Howard hurt Tony, when Obie smiled, smarm and threat roiling into one, when he was too young and too stupid to realize Stone was using him. 

He was the first person Tony turned to, the only person Tony cried on, the one who got to see Tony at his very best and his very worst, and he held Tony, as Tony slept, finally, exhausted and wrung dry by his grief. 

His hands shake a little, stroking over Tony's hair and he thinks back to that day, months ago now, the sound of shattering glass and Tony cursing and a gun going off in the lab. He remembers white walls and red blood and a furious, bleeding Tony and he thinking that Tony had scared him, scared him more in that moment than he had ever before or ever would again. 

Sitting in a tiny safe house in the middle of nowhere, James Barnes and Steve Rogers watching him, his best friend asleep in his arms and not dead and missing on the side of the damn road--he realizes he was wrong. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Barnes demands, and Rhodey's gaze narrows. 

He likes Barnes, trusts him, even. He never would have hired him as Tony's bodyguard if he didn't trust him. But Barnes is looking at him now, his face tight with distrust and his gaze keeps dropping to Tony, something flickering there. 

"He isn't involved," Rogers says. Barnes looks at him, and something passes between them, silent, a whole conversation, and it's so similiar to the way he is with Tony that Rhodey has a disorientating moment of jealous confusion before he shoves that aside and says, "Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? You got me this far on the promise that Tony was safe, Rogers, but I'm gonna need a little more than that right now." 

He trusts Barnes. 

And he doesn't  _ know _ Rogers. But he knows that Howard hired him, Obie approved of him, and that's two strikes against him. The way he's watching Tony, possessive hungry impatience, is a third. 

"The guy this summer. He was paid," Rogers says. He drops a flash drive on the table, and it glitters in the low light. Not like he can do a damn thing with it--the cabin is almost shockingly devoid of any useful tech or computers. "Obadiah wanted Tony hurt, just enough to get him back in New York." 

"Why?" Barnes rasps. 

"Easier," Tony mumbles, and Rhodey blinks down at him. "Easier to kill us all if we're all in the same place." 

He's looking at Rogers, waiting for confirmation, and Rogers kind of wilts, but he nods. 

Tony's smile is small and _painful_ and Rhodey's arms around him tighten, hold him close. "I'm gonna kill him, Tones," he says, and it's a promise. 

Tony pats his hand and kisses his head--still shaved too close and it makes him rumble in displeasure, before he wiggles. Just enough to get Rhodey to let him go. 

He doesn't go far. Just enough to sit up and the two bodyguards kind of shift. 

Realign with him and each other. 

"You won't need to." Tony says. He's watching them and he smiles a little, teasing, flirty, his  _ come fuck me _ smile. It's strange to see it here, but it makes everything click into place for Rhodey and he almost groans. 

"Are you going to tell me the plan?" he asks, and it's almost a dare. 

~*~ 

Rogers and Barnes give them privacy while Tony showers and changes. Rhodey sits on the bathroom counter, not quite willing to be away from him yet. 

He's still healing, but the bruises are almost gone, just the ugly yellow discoloration that's fading now. His gaze tracks over them, and the muscle mass Tony's put on as he pulls on his jeans. "They're taking care of you," he says. 

Tony flicks a look at him, and it's cautious. 

He'd never seen Tony look at him like that before. 

"Hey," he says, tucking that thought away and sliding off the counter to pull Tony into a hug. "Let's not do the 'fake your death' thing again without telling me. I--that's not a good one for me." 

Tony nods against his chest, and Rhodey closes his eyes. 

His best friend is alive. Two men are trying their damndest to keep it that way. 

And Rhodey is here. 

Everything else, he thinks, is window dressing. 


	9. Chapter 9

Rhodey hates the plan. 

Of course Rhodey hates the plan. 

Because the plan is simple--beautifully simple and utterly stupid. 

“You want to take him to Stane,” Rhodey says. 

The  _ are you a goddamn idiot _ is so thick it’s almost choking him, but Steve isn’t looking at Rhodey, and he doesn’t seem to have any problem with his breathing. 

“You can’t know what’s going to happen,” Tony says, softly. 

Steve smiles, a tiny thing. “I know neither of us will let anything happy to you.” 

Tony stares at him, and then flicks a look at Bucky. 

He’s watching, eyes big and beautiful and patient and Tony breathes out, slow. “Do you trust him?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Bucky says, simple and Tony nods. 

“Ok. Tell me again.” 

"This is a shitty idea. And, Tones, you have had a lot of shitty ideas before but this--this takes the goddamn cake." 

"What do you wanna do, Rhodey?" Tony asks, and his voice is sharp, sharp and demanding and he thinks that's better than scared. 

He is so scared. 

"Anything but let you play bait," Rhodey shouts, and there's a desperation in him that draws Tony up short. He bites his lip and looks away, a hand pressed to his lips. 

"Honey bear?" Tony whispers and Rhodey shakes his head. Turns away. He stares out the little window, into the dark, and says, voice flat. "You were dead. That's what they told me. They called me on a base in Iraq and told me you were  _ dead _ . And I lived with that for weeks, Tones, until Rogers showed up and I don't think--I can't have you dying on me again." 

Tony tips his head and steps into Rhodey's space, until dark worried eyes meet his. 

"Nothing will happen," he says. 

"You don't know that," Rhodey answers, gentle. 

"Jamie is the best present you ever gave me--and I would trust Steve with my life. Neither of them will *let anything happen to me." 

“You trust them that much?” 

“I trust you--and you said I could trust Jamie.” 

Rhodey is quiet for a long moment and then, "Have you slept with them yet?" 

Tony smirks and Rhodey makes a grumpy noise. "I better not see any of your ass, peacock." 

Tony laughs and it's the first time he's done that since the car accident and it startles him, how much it  _ hurts. _ ****

~*~ 

“We have to do it right,” Steve says. He’s sitting at the table, facing the couch where Tony is sprawled against Jamie’s reassuring bulk. Rhodey is watching from the window, his gaze tracking from the bodyguards to the genius and back again. 

“We need evidence. Not just suspicions--even if we know they’re right,” Tony says, to forestall Steve’s argument before it can form. 

“What if we had access--” 

“Pepper,” Rhodey says and Tony grins, eyes bright. 

“Can you trust her?” 

Rhodey snorts and reaches for his phone and--

It happens fast, faster than Tony can process, but Steve is across the room, pinning Rhodey to the wall, phone caught in one big hand, the other at his throat, and Jamie is shielding him,  _ protecting  _ him. 

“What the  _ fuck?”  _ Tony snarls. 

None of them even look at him. 

“You don’t seem to understand the threat, Rhodes,” Steve murmurs, low and intimate. 

“You don’t seem to understand that I’ve been protecting Tony for years,” Rhodes spits, and Tony’s relieved that whatever the hell Steve is thinking, he isn’t cutting of Rhodey’s air. “Four kidnappings in two years, Rogers. Four. You know who got him in self-defense classes, who dragged him home from those fucking assholes? It sure as hell wasn’t Howard.” 

That makes Rogers falter and Tony shoves at Jamie, furious and insistent, until he budges over. 

He’s shoving into Steve’s space in a heartbeat, pushing between Steve and Rhodey. “Stand the fuck down, soldier,” Tony snarls, and Steve’s gaze skips to him, just for a moment, and then back to Rhodey. 

It takes a glacial age, but he moves. 

“I apologize,” he says, “I don’t--I want him safe. The more people who know he’s alive, the harder it is for us to keep him safe.” 

Rhodey nods, and Tony twists to look at him, incredulous at the smile in his best friend’s voice. “I appreciate your dedication.” 

His gaze skates between them, and he finally shakes his head and stalks back to drop in Jamie’s lap. “Fucking idiots,” he mumbles and Jamie smiles against his hair. 

Steve watches them, eyes bright and hot and hungry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna try to update every day until this is done but you know what they say about intentions...


End file.
